


Taste the ocean on the tip of my tongue

by dejas



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20276293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dejas/pseuds/dejas
Summary: Dante doesn’t come ashore— just floats smiling and looking far too pleased with himself. He won’t come ashore. He can’t.Tyson swallows, hard, knowing he’s risking it all by asking the obvious. If Dante knows he’s noticed, he’s likely to flee. “You’re a mermaid?”“Merman,” Dante says with a sigh, like this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation. “But yeah. I guess you could say that. I’ve got a tail and everything.”( Or Tyson accidentally falls in love with a merman. )





	Taste the ocean on the tip of my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you found this upon googling, exit immediately. This is a complete work of fiction and in no way am I implying that anything written in here is true. Stories are not meant to be circulated or shared with those written in them. All is loosely based on some real events, that is all.
> 
> This took a lot longer than it should have. Any mistakes are my own, as I had to rush to post it before sending my laptop battery off for repairs. Thank you to everyone who cheered me through this one and to glazedsun for the beta.

**PROLOGUE**

Tyson falls in love with the sea at a young age. It’s problematic only when he decides he wants nothing more than to live _at_ sea— something that isn’t feasible when the only thing he knows about boating is what he’s seen in the movies.

And the movies he’s seen often involve pirates or end in a shipwreck, neither of which would make a convincing case while trying to justify his plans to his mother.

“I’m not going to live in the middle of the ocean,” Tyson stresses, because he’s found a decent bungalow that’s private and close enough to civilization that he’s able to have the best of both worlds. “That’s physically impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible if you try hard enough,” Kacey cuts in, “like sinking.” She smiles innocently at her mother’s less than impressed look.

It’s nothing that’ll make him change his mind.

Tyson’s strong and determined and it helps that he didn’t hesitate putting down a deposit on the bungalow fifteen minutes after scrolling through the photographs. There’s no backing out now.

“Just promise you’ll be safe,” his mother says, pulling him into a hug. “And call me. Every day.”

“Okay, okay,” Tyson mumbles into his mom’s shoulder. When he pulls back, he wipes her single tear. “Don’t cry. It’s only for the summer. As long as I have service, I’ll call, okay?”

Her look tells him he’d better.

..

At the end of June, Tyson moves into the bungalow. The first morning, he walks across the deck that wraps around the majority of the structure, looking out and counting all of the boats that pass. He knows it must be pretty secluded when by noon, he’s only counted two boats— one being the coast guard.

When it rains begins to rain, he retires beneath the canopy, watching as big, fat raindrops hit the water, spreading out in individual bullseye patterns. Tyson sends his mom a video, which seems to appease her for the time being. Other than that, he’s alone.

Or so he thinks.

Tyson spots something— no, _someone_ floating along a good ten feet out in the ocean. His first instinct is to dive in and see if they need help— perhaps someone’s ship capsized nearby— and before he knows it, he’s scrambling to his feet to get a closer look. 

It’s a boy, as far as he can tell. He’s young, probably about Tyson’s age, with dark, damp hair and rosy, sun kissed cheeks. He must spot Tyson because he seems to disappear, only to break the surface a few feet closer to his dock.

Tyson jumps, surprised to see the boy not only swimming with great ease, but _laughing_.

“Who are you?” Tyson leans forward, arms crossed over his chest with a scowl. It’s not common for people to just show up. It’s an odd thing to see when there hasn’t been another boat around for hours.

“Dante,” he says as he bobs along in the water, unable to keep a straight face.

“It’s not funny. This is private property you know,” Tyson says, tip-toeing to the dock’s edge. 

“You live here?” Dante looks up at the bungalow, smiling. “I lived here once.”

“That’s fair,” Tyson says, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t know the owners all that well. They met briefly, more than happy to turn the place over to a tenant. It seemed they, unlike Tyson, didn’t like the sea quite as much. “But I’m paying rent, so for the next six months, this is mine.”

“Okay.” Dante shrugs, turning to leave and it’s then Tyson notices the long tail that replaces what he knows should be a pair of legs. On the surface, Dante looks and sounds like a human, though a bit odd, but then his tail swishes and Tyson tries his hardest not to stare. Mermaids don’t exist.

“Wait.” Tyson sits, feet dangling over the edge. He rubs his eyes, thinking maybe it’s some new, weird swimwear that he’s not aware of. He’s not exactly the most fashion forward and if he puts logic ahead of it all, there’s no way Dante came from the sea. Not if he’s lived in the bungalow before. “Do you want to come up? I was just about to make lunch and I could use the company.”

Dante doesn’t come ashore— just floats smiling and looking far too pleased with himself. He won’t come ashore. He can’t.

Tyson swallows, hard, knowing he’s risking it all by asking the obvious. If Dante knows he’s noticed, he’s likely to flee. “You’re a mermaid?”

“Mer_man_,” Dante says with a sigh, like this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation. “But yeah. I guess you could say that. I’ve got a tail and everything.”

“Yeah, I, uh, noticed,” Tyson replies, motioning to the shadowy fin beneath the water. He doesn’t know if it’s rude to point out, though merpeople etiquette is a concept far too foreign for him. Just hours ago, Tyson was none the wiser, happy thinking that all which laid beneath the surface were just a bunch of really big, really cool fish. He’s half right. “That’s, um, unique?”

“Thanks.” Dante grins, waving his tail as if to show it off. The bit that breaks the surface shines beneath the sun, surprisingly iridescent as it shifts between shades of blue and green. “But you have to do me a favor.”

When Tyson woke up that morning, making promises with a merman was nowhere near making his to-do list. Still, he, though albeit nervously, takes the bait— not pun intended. “What?”

“You can’t tell anyone you saw me.” Dante crosses his arms. He’s serious.

“Well why not?” Tyson laughs softly. “No one would believe me anyway.”

“Merpeople rule,” Dante says. “The second you tell someone, I can never come back.”

“Never?” Tyson raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “That’s a little dramatic.”

Dante rolls his eyes, repeating, “_Merpeople rule_.”

“Wait. You’re not here to lure me out into the water and leave me there are you?” Tyson pulls his knees to his chest. He’s heard myths of beautiful women luring sailors to their demise, wondering if he’s just minutes away from being drug beneath the surface. Not that he’s studying Dante’s face because he thinks he’s beautiful or anything.

“No,” Dante says with a grin, splashing at Tyson’s legs. “That’s just folklore.”

The cool water shakes Tyson slightly and snaps him back to reality. “Then why are you here?”

“No one’s stayed here in years.” Dante swims around the edge, just as careful and cautious as Tyson feels. His voice, though softening, tells Tyson he’s carrying a heavy weight behind his words. He’s lonely. Dante stops only to look back at Tyson once more, confirming those thoughts. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen a human.”

It doesn’t fully answer Tyson’s question, leaving something hanging in the air that he can’t quite place a finger on. Dante’s been here before, but when and most importantly, why? His thoughts cycle back, replaying Dante’s soft, gentle voice— _I lived here once._

“You lived _here_ here?” Tyson cocks his head towards the bungalow, not quite sure how someone with a fin where his legs should be could possibly get inside.

There’s a bellow, low and reminiscent of something Tyson can’t quite pinpoint. It causes Dante to straighten up and switch his gaze from Tyson to the sea. The first one he seems to shrug off, but the second, louder blow of what has to be a horn prompts Dante. “What's your name?”

“Tyson,” he responds, catching Dante’s smile. “But wait—”

"See ya, Tyson," Dante says and with the flick of his long tail, he's off. 

Tyson blinks. He rubs his eyes, pinches his arm and thinks that maybe he’s still asleep, but when he looks out into the now empty horizon, still wide awake, swears it’s real. He still goes straight to the coffee maker.

After two cups, Tyson explores the bungalow floor to ceiling. There’s no signs of anyone who lived there prior— no photos, no carvings into the woodwork, no little bits or pieces of paper that might have a single clue as to who Dante is or where he came from.

_He came from the ocean_, Tyson reminds himself when his stomach rumbles and he realizes he’s spent half of his day seeking out something he may never find an answer to.

..

Three days pass and when Dante doesn’t reappear, Tyson’s as good as given up. He chalks it up to having been some sort of weird desert mirage, except one that somehow took place on water— if that’s even a thing.

He checks in with his mom, sending her photos of where he’s staying and reassuring her that he’s just fine, though maybe a bit homesick. He also, purposely, leaves out Dante. There’s no need to bring up someone (_something_?) that’s just a result of his mind playing tricks on him.

Or so he thinks.

“Hi,” the familiar voice sing-songs when Tyson hangs up his phone, nearly dropping it into the water.

“Dude,” Tyson says, taking a deep breath. It doesn’t ease his racing heart. “You’re real.”

Dante laughs. He’s holding something— a large, pearlescent seashell that catches Tyson’s eye in the sunlight. “I am,” he confirms, looking down at the shell he’s possessing. “Oh, do you like this?”

Tyson nods, sitting at the dock’s edge. “I’ve never seen one like it before.”

“That’s because they’re rare,” Dante says, inching forward. “It’s yours now.” He holds it out to Tyson who takes it into his hands graciously.

“Are you sure?” Tyson turns the seashell over in his hands, smiling at the way it seems to shift in color and though he’s only seen it once, it reminds him of Dante’s tail. When Dante nods, he tucks it further back onto the dock, knowing he’ll treasure it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dante says, smiling. “I used to leave them here for… someone else.” His voice trails off at the end, taking his smile and turning it into a look Tyson’s unable to process— one that fills his heart with sadness— one he doesn’t feel comfortable questioning. 

Tyson looks down at his hands, then towards Dante who seems to be focused on some seaweed that’s floating by. He doesn’t know how to cheer up a merman— because like, maybe he’s just like regular humans— but Tyson— two legs and maybe half of a brain, isn’t the best in awkward situations with humans, let alone someone who seems to have come from another world. “Okay so this is really ridiculous but hear me out.”

“I’m listening,” Dante says, perking up.

“Have you ever seen _the Little Mermaid_?” 

“Yeah, I watch it all of the time,” Dante says flatly.

“What, really?” Tyson smiles, despite not pulling one from Dante.

“No, Tyson. I live in the _ocean_.” Dante shakes his head, slight smile hard to hide. It’s a smile that Tyson’s already associated with Dante in their two meetings— one that he missed the split second it went away, if even more a minute.

“But you didn’t always live in the ocean,” Tyson blurts out, noticing how it catches Dante off guard.

“No,” he shrugs, like it’s common for someone to go from living on land to a full blown merman overnight. “But I’m here now.”

“Yeah.” Tyson chews his bottom lip, wondering why— _how_— Dante left his home on land.

“Yeah,” Dante repeats. “So what were you going to ask me? And if it’s in reference to the movie, yes, I know what a fork is.”

Tyson exhales. There’s no easy way to ask. “How did you end up in the ocean?”

“My boat sank,” Dante says, eyes going dark.

“It— it sank?” Tyson doesn’t meant to stutter. It just… doesn’t make sense.

Dante blinks. “Yeah.”

“And you just… grew a tail?” Tyson’s read stories of children lost in the jungle, snatched by animals and turning feral. He wonders if things work similarly underwater— if Dante just, somehow, over time, adapted. 

“No, not exactly,” Dante says, voice lower this time. His face tells Tyson that maybe this isn’t something he wants to talk about much more— that maybe he should shut his mouth and stop prying.

“But—”

Dante shakes his head, quick to cut in. “It’s complicated. And I don’t see what this has to do with The Little Mermaid.”

“She left the ocean,” Tyson says easily. “So I guess in theory you could just—”

“—What, find a mean, purple Sea Witch to trade my voice away for a pair of legs?” Dante laughs, but it’s bordering the line of uneasy. “That doesn’t exist down there, anyway. Oh and before you ask, no, our fish _don’t_ sing either.”

“What if you find your boat?” Tyson taps his chin. He doesn’t know why he’s desperate for a solution, just that there _has_ to be one. “Maybe if you get back on it, you’ll change back.”

“I found it years ago, Tys,” Dante says with a heavy sigh. “It’s wrecked.”

Tyson frowns. It’s easy to picture Dante upon a boat, smiling with rosy cheeks. The hard part is imagining the aftermath— of Dante clinging to the side of a capsized boat before it fully sinks. He can only imagine how scared he must have been. There isn’t much he can say to make it all better except for, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, okay?” Dante leans against the dock and smiles. Tyson likes seeing it, even if it _is_ forced. “I have someone I can come and visit now.”

_Until the end of August_, Tyson thinks, because he doesn’t have the heart to break Dante’s spirit like that. Not yet, anyway. So he just agrees. “Yeah, it’ll be great.”

Dante laughs, splashing with his tail and for a moment, Tyson wonders what it would be like to swim with him. It’s a thought the puts away the minute the familiar bellow sounds off again. That’s when Dante stops splashing. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll be here,” Tyson says, because he has nowhere to be— because he thinks he’d quite like to see Dante again, too.

..

Dante visits daily. They swim together in the morning— just around the dock— because Tyson mentions that he doesn’t know what’s down there and isn’t so sure he wants to know just yet. He leaves on occasion for groceries, but Dante learns that schedule and he hangs around the window when Tyson cooks, humming along to the songs over the radio that he learns after a few listens.

It’s particularly warm one afternoon when Tyson gets into the water with Dante and feels comfortable enough to ask him another question that’s been plaguing his mind.

“So how do you, uh,” Tyson wiggles his index finger which he knows doesn’t exactly lay out what he’s hinting at, it’s just… “You know. Do the thing.”

“Eat?” Dante furrows his eyebrows, Tyson’s signaling lost in translation. “Dance? I don’t know what you’re—”

“Bang, bro” Tyson says rather bluntly. He’d like to think he’d be a little more tactful if he wasn’t so curious. “Mermaids fuck, right?”

Dante laughs, shaking his head. “I mean, I haven’t exactly tried to shoot my shot with Ariel or anything if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“Ariel is real?” Tyson’s eyes widen, imagining an underground castle that’s just waiting to be explored.

“What? No,” Dante says with a groan. “But to answer your first question, kind of?”

“What does _kind of _mean?” Tyson leans in, knowing that he should probably be embarrassed about asking— that Dante, based on the blush creeping up over his cheeks is _definitely _embarrassed— but fuck it, he’s curious. 

“They uh, like fish, you know?” Dante stutters a bit, clearing his throat. “The women lay eggs and then—”

“You jack off over her eggs?” Tyson’s eyes go wide, laughing. “Gross, bro.”

“No!” Dante covers his face, head shaking and redder than ever. “I mean yes, but not _me_. Just. Other mermen.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Tyson’s words all run together when he asks, stomach suddenly turning at the idea of Dante with someone else— sea creature or otherwise.

Dante shakes his head. “I don’t.”

Tyson hates to admit that he’s glad to hear it. Except— “A boyfriend?”

“No,” Dante answers, head ducking when he does. Tyson doesn’t have to see his face to know it’s red again.

“Me neither,” Tyson says, though he doesn’t know why. It’s not as if he can _date_ Dante. Not easily, anyway. 

Dante laughs, though Tyson’s pretty sure it’s just to kill the awkward silence that forms between them. He appreciates the effort, though, giving him one of his best smiles. It’s only then when Dante swims forward, stopping when he’s just inches away.

Tyson’s stomach swoops again. “What?”

Slowly, Dante cups Tyson’s face and leans in, mouth warm against his own. Instinct says to kiss back and so, without question, Tyson does just that. When they break apart, Dante’s, unsurprisingly, blushing.

Tyson’s face warms. “What was _that _for?”

“C’mon.” Dante grabs Tyson by the arm and tugs until he topples, breaking beneath the surface. Eyes wide and now underwater, he gasps, swallowing water, barely registering it filling his lungs. He thrashes around, Dante pulling him deeper out into the depths of the ocean and thinks this has to be the stupidest way to go— death by merman. 

“Stop!” Tyson shouts, free arm flailing and it’s then that he realizes what he thought was near impossible. He can hear himself. He can _breathe_ underwater.

Dante slows, rising up slightly, letting Tyson’s hand drop— no, float. “Okay.”

“Wait.” Tyson knows he’s underwater only this time, it doesn’t feel like those summers at the lake he remembers. This is different, a little like what he would imagine floating along in outer space would feel like. When he opens his mouth again, a few bubbles rise up, making Dante laugh. “I can breathe?”

“Yes.” Dante laughs again, popping another one of Tyson’s accidental bubbles.

Tyson raises an eyebrow, wondering why he’s cursed with embarrassing bubbles when Dante isn’t— how he must be at least fifteen feet deep with no sign of a struggle. Had he tried this yesterday, surely he’d have drowned. “How?”

“Magic,” Dante says matter-of-factly.

“Is that why you kissed me?” Tyson tries his best to speak slowly, scrunching his nose when one last bubble seems to punctuate his sentence. If anything, he hopes that means he’s adjusted to his new surroundings— and by surroundings, he means Dante, pink-cheeked and cheerful.

“Yes.”

And, “Oh,” Tyson says. Of course. It would be silly for him to think otherwise. It’s a thought he mentally crumples up and throws in the corner of his mind, storing it for later, focused on taking in his surroundings. It’s much darker than he envisioned. “So this is it?”

“Of course not.” Dante laughs, reaching out for Tyson’s hand. “This way.”

Dante’s fast, gliding through the water with ease, darting around obstacles and going further, deeper down until everything goes pitch black. Tyson feels his fingers slip and Dante adjusting, getting a tighter grip until he stops dead, second hand bracing Tyson after the imminent impact.

Tyson blinks but it does nothing, still enveloped in darkness. “I can’t see anything.”

“You will,” Dante says and one final tug brings Tyson forward through what feels like an invisible, underwater curtain. The other side is bright, a light so blinding that he has to squint until his eyes adapt to the sudden change.

Slowly, Tyson’s eyes adjust. When it all comes into view, he’s left breathless. Colorful coral surround the outskirts of what Tyson thinks is a small, underwater village. It’s a far cry from the tall, castle-like structures Tyson imagined.

“Wow,” Tyson says, spinning to take it all in. “This is where you live?”

Dante nods. “This is it.”

A school of fish swim by and Tyson turns to watch as they pass over his head. They’re just as he’d expect— fast and seemingly afraid of him. What he doesn’t see are any other merpeople. He’s about to ask where everyone else is when something hits his back, pinning him to the ocean floor. Tyson reaches blindly, his fingers curling around what feels like thick, heavy ropes.

Struggling does nothing. When he’s able to turn over, all he can see is the intricate netting that’s weighing him down, leaving him trapped beneath the ocean. Just as Tyson feared, he’s been caught.

..

Tyson wakes up inside of a small room, propped up on what he thinks is supposed to be a bed. Dante’s at the end of the room— pacing/floating in a way only a merman could— looking highly stressed.

“You didn’t have to trap him, you know,” Dante says, speaking to someone outside of the room.

“He has to go,” another voice answers.

Neither seem to be paying attention and Tyson takes the opportunity to move to his feet. He doesn’t think he can outswim a merman, but if he has a running, er, swimming start, then maybe he has a chance.

“Dante, we’ve gone over this.” Another merman appears, arms crossed over his broad chest. He looks at Tyson, who freezes, then back to Dante, nose wrinkling with disapproval. “You can’t keep him.”

Dante rolls his eyes and it’s obvious by his body language that the other merman doesn’t rank over him— he just _thinks _he does. “Shut up, Mat.”

The merman, Mat, huffs, like maybe it isn’t the first time Dante’s done this— maybe Tyson isn’t unique. It’s a weird feeling, like jealousy almost, knowing that bringing strangers deep down beneath the ocean is kind of his _thing_. Tyson can’t help but wonder how many came down before him and more importantly, what happened to them.

“Wait,” Tyson says, trying to take an actual step back, only to find himself awkwardly hovering over the sand that lies just out of reach beneath his feet. “Keep me?”

“Don’t listen to him.” Dante glares at Mat who’s already smirking. “The spell will wear off and you’ll be back on land before you know it.”

“O— Okay.” Tyson chews his bottom lip, uneasy in the moment. He doesn’t know Dante, really, but he still trusts him. There’s never been any reason not to. _It’s folklore_, he reminds himself. 

“Promise,” Dante says, smiling. It’s enough to temporarily put Tyson at ease. “Mat’s just jealous.”

“I am _not_ jealous!” Mat rolls his eyes. “Look, there’s a reason why you aren’t supposed to bring humans down here.”

Tyson clenches his fists. He’s not going to punch Mat or anything but isn’t opposed to it should push come to shove. “I’m not going to tell anyone if that’s what you think. I know the rules.”

“Clearly not _all_ of them,” Mat retorts. “Once someone comes down here, it’s permanent.”

“But.” Tyson moves backwards. “I thought the spell was going to wear off?”

“It will,” Dante says, reassuring. “It’s just… uh, technically not supposed to.”

“You get a pass this time.” Mat waves his hand around the room. It’s decorated, much like his bungalow, but with shells and coral, kelp in the place of potted plants and found trinkets scattered about. “But only because Dante’s so obsessed with going to the surface.”

“Don’t complain,” Dante says, lifting up a rusted barbell. “I bring you things.”

“Rusted things,” Mat counters, grinning.

“I can give him some things to bring you if you let me go,” Tyson says, relieved to see Mat’s lightening up some. Or so he thought.

Mat turns, holding out his hand in a halting motion. “I don’t need your things and we don’t need you. Really.” When he turns to Dante, his voice is slightly panicked. “Dante, _please_ put him back where you found him. You know what’ll happen if you’re caught with him. Humans are bad.”

“What’ll happen?” Tyson asks. “And I’m not bad. I’m different.”

“Don’t come back down here,” Mat warns, turning to Dante, giving him a knowing look. “Do you really want him stuck down here forever?”

“No,” Dante sighs, swimming over to Tyson. “Come on, let’s go.” Before Tyson can protest, he’s yanking his hand, pulling him again. This time they’re headed up.

When Tyson breaks the surface, he gasps, grasping for the ladder at the foot of his dock. He doesn’t have to test it to know the spell has already worn off. “That was… uh, educational.”

“Yeah?” Dante smiles. “What did you learn?”

Tyson snorts. “Mermen are dicks.”

“We’re not _all_ bad,” Dante says, feigning offense.

“Dude, you yanked me 100 feet beneath the ocean without warning.” Tyson pushes back his damp hair, exhaling when Dante’s playful grin fades. “I mean I’m not mad about that. Just some warning would have been nice?”

Dante nods, bobbing in the water when his smile returns, Tyson’s sigh is one of relief— until Dante leans in, voice low. “For the record, we went way more than 100 feet.”

“That’s— okay, great,” Tyson stutters. He’s pretty sure he never wants to do _that_ again. “Why did you take me down there?”

“You asked a lot of questions,” Dante says, sheepish. “I thought I’d show you for yourself.”

“You broke the rules,” Tyson says suddenly. He tries not to smile, but it’s impossible not to. “Why did you break the rules?”

Dante shrugs, smiling back. “For you.”

“But now I can’t go back.” Tyson frowns, thinking about Mat’s warning.

“Nope.” Dante laughs nervously. “They’ll surely turn you if you do.”

“Who is _they_?” Tyson asks, wincing when he hears Dante’s familiar call home, knowing his visit is over. “Wait.”

“I can’t,” Dante says quickly. And then he’s gone.

..

Tyson is sunning himself on the deck when Dante returns a whole two days later. There’s a thump against the deck that causes him to open one eye, grinning when Dante appears. He comes bearing shiny shells and bright coral in what Tyson knows has to be his way of buttering him up.

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be back,” Tyson says, sitting up and dangling his feet over the water. He picks up a piece of coral, looking it over. “Where have you been?”

Dante’s occupied with pulling shells out of makeshift bag that’s been woven together with what Tyson thinks must be seaweed, forming the most intricate netting. He sets a few more of the shells on the dock, looking up at Tyson. “Busy.”

“Busy?” Tyson repeats.

“Yeah,” Dante smiles. “Doing merman stuff.”

“Well,” Tyson exhales. He doesn’t know what merman stuff entails, but knows it’s better to leave some things a mystery. “Thank you for the shells and stuff. I’m glad you’re back.”

“You’re welcome,” Dante says, splashing at Tyson’s legs. “Now come swim with me.”

Tyson nods, slipping off of the dock and into the water. It’s a little colder than he likes, but Dante’s laugh makes his stomach flip, warming his insides instantly. 

Dante splashes him some more and Tyson laughs, splashing back. It’s his favorite part of the day— watching Dante show off— playing, like he hasn’t done since he was a kid— racing him until they’re both too tired to keep going.

He likes swimming with Dante. Dante’s faster, naturally, because he’s half fin and swims constantly, but Tyson’s determined to keep up and loves the challenge. If Dante had legs, he knows they’d be evenly matched. If only.

“I wish you had legs.” Tyson doesn’t mean to say it out loud. It just… slips.

Dante stops swimming and falls silent.

Tyson stops, too, feeling more than embarrassed. “Sorry. I, uh.”

“Honestly?” Dante says, looking out at the horizon. “You and me both. But I live in the ocean now.” He chews his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed. “Mat says he’s been stuck down there for at least fifty years. I think it’s been longer. He’s lost count.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found.” Tyson shrugs, thinking back to the way Mat scowled upon his arrival. “But you did.”

“I’m not like Mat.” Dante skims his hand across the top of the water, watching the shapes that form beneath. “He’s stubborn and fine with staying down there. He doesn’t have any family left on the surface and apparently has all that he needs.”

Tyson raises an eyebrow. “And you don’t?” 

“No.” Dante shakes his head. “I don’t.”

“What do you need?” Tyson’s voice is soft, just above a whisper.

Dante’s eyes are wild, searching. “Something more.” 

Tyson takes Dante’s hand, fingers tangling together. If he imagines hard enough, he can see a life where Dante’s human. It’s easy to ignore the tail when he keeps it hidden beneath the water. Tyson doesn’t know what makes him press his lips to Dante’s— like, it’s probably really stupid of him to do— but Dante seems to melt down against him and, surprisingly, kisses back.

“Don’t take me underwater again,” Tyson mumbles when he breaks the kiss, remembering what happened the first time they kissed, watching as Dante’s as they slowly open. “I want to see you again.”

“Okay,” Dante whispers back. And then they kiss again.

It stays that way— Dante and Tyson close to the dock— close to each other— exchanging kisses that alternate between soft and chaste to light and lingering. Tyson knows that’s where the line is drawn. They can’t do much more than that— he wouldn’t ask. Kissing Dante is well enough on it’s own.

Or so Tyson thinks.

When Dante’s called back, Tyson watches him swim off— picturing what it would be like if he could stay— how it would feel to bring Dante inside for a home cooked meal or to even just fuck around and play video games for a solid hour. Tyson would like that. He thinks Dante would, too.

He pictures bringing Dante home for the holidays and introducing him to his mother— watching his cheeks redden when she’d without a doubt ask for the story of how they met. There’s no point in thinking one up, It’s an unrealistic dream.

Tyson knows he’s living in a fantasy world. As nice as taking Dante around town would be, he knows it can’t happen. It won’t happen. Ever.

Dante’s home is in the ocean and Tyson’s _isn’t_ in this bungalow. It is, temporarily, but sooner or later, he’ll head back to Kelowna. Sooner or later he’ll have to say goodbye to Dante. It isn’t like they can exchange phone numbers or anything like that. If he wants to be Dante’s friend, he has to stay. And he can’t.

It’s nothing Tyson’s ready to think about. He has another month and a half before he has to even consider saying goodbye. 

His chest is heavy when he crawls into bed that night. Tyson’s first mistake is turning, eyes setting on the shell he’s placed on his bedside table. The first shell Dante brought him. His second mistake is realizing that he has feelings for Dante.

Tyson thinks about calling his mom. She’s always giving the best advice. But then he remembers Dante’s his secret— and for good reason. Telling her about him will only cause some sort of upheaval in the merperson world and take him away for good. He doesn’t understand it but doesn’t dare test it, so Tyson shakes it off and tries his best to sleep.

..

Tyson is awoken by a cough that jolts him upright, forcing him out of bed to investigate. He toes towards the end of his dock, but it’s silent and no sign over overturned boats. His first thought is robbers, though he can’t imagine someone driving out to a remote area just to steal from a few sporadically placed bungalows. A murderer sounds slightly more probable.

The cough repeats itself, sputtering and loud, just at the foot of his dock.

“Hello?” Tyson inhales. “Dante, if you’re fucking with me…”

There’s a shadow— a body— a _boy_, he thinks, at the end of his dock, crouching down, palms pressed against the wooden flooring. He recognizes the dark, slightly curled hair at the top of his head. Dante.

“Dante?” Tyson can feel his feel beating a mile a minute when the figure shifts, slowly moving to sit up on their knees. It can’t be Dante. Dante has a tail. Except the boy speaks— calls for him— and the way Tyson’s name rolls off of his tongue is so unmistakably Dante.

Tyson nearly sprints across the dock, squats down, cupping his face. He’s gentle in tilting his chin up until he meets a familiar pair of soft brown eyes. What he doesn’t recognize are the knees Dante’s on. 

“Hi,” Dante whispers, smiling.

“You’re— oh God, you’re _naked_.” Tyson wraps his arms around Dante, helping him to his feet and pulling him inside. Just because it’s private property doesn’t mean occasional boat traffic doesn’t occur. 

Dante doesn’t answer, just curls against Tyson, taking in his body heat. Tyson’s hand rests at the small of Dante’s back, leading him, thinking about how literally any other situation involving Dante and nudity would be ideal. 

Once inside, Tyson tries his best to be respectful in shielding his eyes until he’s able to grab a heavy blanket and wrap it around Dante the best he can. If he peeks— and okay, he _does_— it’s right before Dante closes the blanket around himself.

“Thank you.” Dante smiles, tugging the blanket closer to his wet, shivering body. “I saw you looking by the way. And let me start by telling you it’s _very_ cold out there.”

“You have feet,” Tyson says once Dante’s covered, breathing normally and he’s able to somewhat get passed the whole _nudity_ thing. Sort of. “Yeah, and okay, a dick. I totally looked. So sue me.”

“I just might.” Dante’s laugh is soft and slightly raspy, due to the water he’s likely swallowed upon transformation. “But yeah, feet _and _a dick. Surprise.”

Tyson’s sure he’d blush or something, had he any shame. The thing is, he doesn’t, and by the looks of things, neither does Dante. “Yeah, surprise,” he repeats. “So, you’re like, cured now then, right?”

“I wasn’t sick, Tyson.” Dante rolls his eyes with a grin. “I had a tail. Now I don’t.”

“But now you don’t!” Tyson’s eyes are wide and full of hope. He tries not to picture a life with Dante— it’s too soon to get ahead of himself— he’s still thinking about his dick, but, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I think so?” Dante half shrugs, standing in the center of Tyson’s bungalow, turning, taking it all in. He looks so small there, swallowed up by Tyson’s heavy comforter. When he shakily crosses the room and lowers himself into a chair, he looks even smaller. “I mean, walking is still kind of weird. But the dick thing is pretty cool. You have no idea how much I missed that.”

“Were you two close?” Tyson smirks.

Dante rolls his eyes. “Fuck off. You looked at it.”

“And to think I was going to get you some clothes to wear,” Tyson says, laughing.

“God,” Dante shivers a little. “Please?”

Tyson’s hesitant to leave the room. Not because he thinks Dante will leave— because he doesn’t know if this is real. He very well could come back to Dante with a tail again or worse, no Dante at all. He makes sure to grab a few things as quickly as possible. Just in case.

When he returns, Dante’s still there, standing, looking around Tyson’s kitchen and still so very naked. Tyson nearly loses it. “Dante!”

Dante’s examining the radio, poking at the buttons as if trying to figure out how to work it. He’s spent countless days listening to the different songs Tyson’s played from it, just never actually tried it himself. Though naked, his grin is shameless. “Can we play with it?”

“I, uh,” Tyson blinks a few times until he realizes the _it_ Dante’s referring to is the radio. Hand outstretched, he hands Dante some clean clothing. “Put these on first, okay?”

“Okay,” Dante singsongs, taking them but taking his time with slipping them on. When he’s dressed, he pokes at the radio again. “Why won’t it turn on? These buttons don’t work right.”

“It’s bluetooth,” Tyson says, peeking through his fingers and sighing with relief when he sees Dante in one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. “It’s also 5 AM. Why are you awake?”

“Merpeople don’t have sleep schedules.” Dante turns the radio on it’s side, looking confused. “What’s bluetooth?”

“Dante.” Tyson does his best to cover his yawn. “Humans have sleep schedules.”

Dante frowns, setting the radio down and just when Tyson thinks he’s going to have to give in and play a song or two, Dante’s shifts back to cheerful. He grins, rocking on his heels as if he’s had legs his whole life, smile wide. “Is this like a sleepover? I haven’t had one of those in years.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Tyson hadn’t thought about sleeping arrangements, his brain still stuck on the fact that Dante appeared on legs but also… naked. He feels his stomach swoop at the idea of them sharing a bed. They’ll be clothed, but it doesn’t mean he won’t think about when Dante wasn’t. “You can sleep in the bed tonight and I’ll take the couch.”

“Okay,” Dante says, going straight for the bedroom.

Tyson’s a little surprised he’s able to find it so easily and then remembers— _right, he lived here_.

“Goodnight!” Dante calls from the bedroom.

It takes Tyson every little bit of restraint he has not to walk over to the doorway and peer inside, imagining Dante cozy in the center of what’s become his bed. Instead, he settles down on the couch and closes his eyes. Turning off the lamp, he calls back, “sweet dreams.”

He’s just about to fall asleep when Dante calls his name.

Tyson rolls over, voice slightly muffled against the crook of his arm. “What?”

“I can’t sleep.”

And, okay, Tyson thinks. Fair. He doesn’t know how long Dante’s been a human, just that he _is_ now. If anything, he’s likely confused, worried or both. Tyson knows _he_ is. “Can you try?”

“Um.” He can hear rustling coming from inside of the room followed by Dante’s frustrated sigh.

“Okay,” Tyson says, “I’m coming in.” He expects Dante huddled under blankets. What he gets is Dante sprawled out across the mattress, shirtless and looking downright uncomfortable. “Are you, like, okay, dude? Do you want a glass of water or something?”

Dante sits up. “Can you sleep here with me? Being in here alone is weird.”

“Weird?” Tyson crosses the room, boards creaking beneath his feet. He lowers himself, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Are you afraid of the dark?”

“No!” Dante narrows his eyes, arms crossing. “It’s just been awhile since I’ve slept in an actual room. In a real bed.” When his expression softens, so does his face. “And I don’t know, what if someone comes looking for me? I don’t want to be alone.”

Tyson’s silent when he crawls across the bed, settling in next to Dante. When Dante lets out a sigh of relief, Tyson turns out the light. “Goodnight, Dante.”

“Night.” Dante whispers.

Closing his eyes, Tyson hums. He feels the slight dip of the mattress first, followed by Dante’s arm wrapping around his own. When Dante curls up against him, face pressed against the back of his shoulder, Tyson falls asleep with a smile.

..

“Hi,” Dante whispers, crouched down and inches away from Tyson’s face.

Tyson, half-awake, nearly jumps out of his skin. “When did you get out of bed?” 

“Ten minutes ago.” Dante shrugs. “You were snoring and I’m hungry.”

“I’ll make breakfast, just—” Tyson yawns. “Do you know how to work a Keurig?”

Dante blinks. “A what?”

Tyson groans, sitting up. “The coffee— No, never mind. I’ll show you.” He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, leading Dante to the kitchen. Coffee pod in one hand, he opens the machine with the other, pops it in and sticks a mug beneath. Tyson lets Dante press the button.

“Wow,” Dante mouths when he’s left with one singular mug of coffee. “Magic.”

“Nah,” Tyson shrugs. “Technology. I thought you were well versed in magic.”

Dante just blushes.

Things, Tyson learns, have changed quite a bit since Dante’s been on land.

He’s helpful in the kitchen and even flips the pancakes at the right moment (and okay, a few of Tyson’s fall apart when he tries to keep up, but he swears he only ruined a few because he didn’t want to show off. Midway through, he moves on to bacon duty.). With a flick of the wrist, Dante plates them evenly, smiling proudly at how golden brown and perfectly round they turn out.

“I haven’t had pancakes in— well, I don’t know how long,” Dante says and Tyson gladly gives him a few extra. Just because.

It isn’t until they sit and Tyson gets caught trying to snap a covert photo that he realizes just how displaced Dante is to the present world.

“People can take pictures with their phones now?” Dante’s photo isn’t flattering. He’s mid-bite of his pancakes, looking a bit like a deer in headlights, but Tyson decides he likes it enough not to delete it. It’s quirky. “When I lived here, my family had one phone and all you could do is play Snake on it.”

“Snake?” Tyson’s heard of it, but it’s no Fortnite— not that he likes Fortnite or anything. Come to think of it, he’s glad it’s one trend he’s thankful Dante is naive to. “How old _are_ you?”

“Merpeople don’t age,” Dante says with a shrug. “So, like, twenty-one, I guess.”

“Oh.” Tyson goes quiet. It makes sense, knowing Mat, though young looking, has been beneath the ocean for years. He and Dante are the same age if he doesn’t think of the technicalities— that while he’s just turned twenty-one some months ago, Dante’s likely been twenty-one for at least twenty years. This, he thinks, could change things. “Does this mean you’re about to turn really old?”

“I don’t think so.” Dante smiles, reaching for a piece of bacon. “I was twenty-one when it happened. A few weeks after my birthday, actually. Kinda screwed up if you think about it.”

“Yeah,” Tyson says slowly, setting down his fork. “I guess there’s a lot you have to catch up on then, huh?”

Dante furrows his brows. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“It’s okay.” Tyson stabs a piece of pancake with his fork. “We’ve got time. Have you thought about where you’re going to live?”

“No,” Dante admits, looking more than a little taken aback. “I haven’t even been on my own two feet for more than twenty-four hours. Next you’re going to tell me I need to get a job.”

“I mean.” Tyson clears his throat. “Eventually? Probably?”

“Do _you_ have a job?” Dante shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Yes,” Tyson says quietly. “I sell houses for a living.”

Dante laughs. “That sounds boring.”

“It’s _so_ not boring!” He’s just as passionate about his job as he is about the sea— because his job requires someone personable— someone who can read people easily and find them exactly what they’re looking for. It’s how he’s found the perfect match for countless clients. It’s how he found this place. “You get to see the inside of hundreds of houses, new and old. It’s interesting.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Dante says with a grin. “I used to watch House Hunters. I know the kind of people you have to please.”

“They’re not _all_ artists with a limited budget.” To be fair, he’s had his fair share of clients who _were_ a handful. It comes with the territory. Still, it’s never, ever made him rethink his path. “I could help anyone find a place.”

“But probably not a former merman,” Dante snorts. “My budget is non-existent. Do you take payment in shells?”

“Typically no,” Tyson says, glancing over to the windowsill where the shells Dante’s been bringing him sit. They’re likely worthless to anyone else but for Tyson, they’re priceless, carrying sentimental value. “But I like them, so I’m keeping the ones you gave me.”

“Keep them.” Dante shrugs with a soft smile, looking out at the ocean. “There’s plenty out there. A whole world if you know where to look.”

“You can live with me.” Tyson doesn’t realize he’s said it until the words are already out of his mouth. He winces, only slightly, when Dante laughs. “Just until you’ve got a handle on the whole being human again thing. You know, like roommates.”

Dante’s silent, seemingly contemplating.

Tyson nods, because he gets it— change is hard. Taking risks is never easy. Had Tyson played it safe, he’d never have followed through with his extended vacation— he’d never have met Dante. Carefully, he reaches across the table, resting his hand over Dante’s. “You adjusted once, you can do it again.”

“Do you really think so?” Dante turns his hand over beneath Tyson’s, giving his a squeeze. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“With breakfast, probably,” Tyson says, looking down at their hands with a smile. “After that, I’ll take you into town and we can explore a little. How does that sound?”

Dante seems reluctant to let go of Tyson’s hand but after one more soft squeeze, he does. By the time he picks up his fork and spears another pancake, he’s smiling. “Okay. That sounds good.”

“Good,” Tyson repeats.

“Oh,” Dante says, mouth half-full of pancakes. “The answer is yes, by the way.”

“Yes?” Tyson raises an eyebrow.

“You were asking me to come live with you.” Dante reaches for the syrup, dumping more on his pancakes. “Like roommates.”

Tyson smiles his way through the rest of breakfast.

..

The afternoon, Tyson finds, is much different.

“Thought we were going into town,” Dante mumbles against Tyson’s lips, breath hitching when Tyson’s fingertips slip beneath the borrowed shirt. He tilts his head down, eyes meeting Tyson’s, mouth in a half-smirk. 

“We can,” Tyson says, tipping his own head up and catching Dante’s lips in a surprisingly deep and lingering kiss. He feels Dante inching closer, settling against him and then a pair of hands snaking around his middle, telling him they’re more likely _not_ going anywhere anytime soon.

“We should,” Dante whispers, kissing a trail along Tyson’s jawline. “Just to see.”

“See?” Tyson shivers, opening one eye. “But I like kissing you. You taste like maple syrup.”

Dante grins, pressing a chaste kiss to Tyson’s lips for good measure. “I want to see how much has changed. And maybe what else I can taste like.”

“There’s an ice cream place,” Tyson says, humming when Dante presses a thumb to his cheek. “Do you want to get ice cream?”

When Dante nods, his eyes light up and he kisses Tyson again, making it almost impossible for Tyson to pull away this time around. “Chocolate, please.”

“Sprinkles?” Tyson laughs, sitting up reluctantly and smoothing down his hair.

“Chocolate,” Dante says again, smiling. He hops up, holding a hand out for Tyson, helping him to his feet. “Do you think they’ll put fudge on top, too?”

Tyson grabs his shoes, pulling them on. “Maybe. How much money do you have?”

Dante’s face falls. “Um.”

“I’m kidding,” Tyson says, reaching out for Dante’s shoulder. “My treat, okay?”

Dante smiles, larger this time and leans in for a kiss. Tyson moves an arm around Dante to hold him there, kissing deeper with a near-matching smile. Slowly, Dante’s hand moves up, raking through the curls Tyson’s just fixed, absently tugging at one.

It’s nice, Tyson thinks. Too nice.

“Let’s go,” he mutters into the kiss, “because if you don’t stop kissing me, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Ever?” Dante grins, giving another curl a light tug.

Tyson snorts. “Do you really want to test that? Because I have no problem staying in.”

“No,” Dante says quickly, heading toward the door. “I want ice cream.”

“Okay, okay.” Tyson leads Dante out the back, down the dock that leads out to land. It’s been awhile since he’s climbed into his rental car, only taking it to town when he needed groceries. “Just toss whatever’s on the passenger seat in the back,” he says, getting into the driver’s seat.

Dante does as he’s told, throwing a hat and a phone charger behind him. The hoodie he holds onto. It isn’t until they’re down the long dirt road and out into a main one that Tyson speaks again. 

“What are you doing with that?” Tyson motions to the hoodie.

Dante shrugs. “Borrowing it.”

He, decidedly, can’t argue that.

It’s a decent drive— about twenty five minutes until they see another house and twenty more until Tyson points to the outskirts of town. They round a corner, more buildings coming into view when Tyson notices Dante’s grip tighten around the hoodie. “We’re almost there.”

“It looks, uh,” Dante begins, seeming lost for words.

Tyson turns his head slightly. “Different?”

“No,” Dante says, laughing nervously. “It looks exactly the same.”

“Oh.” Tyson turns the wheel, pulling into the parking lot of the ice cream shop and shutting off the car. “Isn’t that a good thing?” He doesn’t get out just yet, turning towards Dante who seems a little too hesitant.

“It’s weird,” he finally says, shrugging and moving the hoodie to sit on top of the middle console. “Let’s go get our ice cream before I change my mind.”

Tyson nods, knowing better than to question it. Once Dante’s occupied, chocolate ice cream in hand, his mood seems to lighten again. He licks some sprinkles off, smiling when Tyson tries his own, almost exact, cone. 

“Well?” Tyson tilts his cone, ice cream already melting over the edge of the cone. “What do you think?”

Dante licks his cone and then his lips. “Can we come here tomorrow?”

There’s a voice— one Tyson doesn’t recognize— calling them— calling _Dante_. When he turns, it’s an older woman from just behind the counter. Dante freezes, shaking his head. He glances between Tyson and then the car, slowly making his way over.

Tyson picks up on it quickly, giving the woman a sympathetic look. “I think you have the wrong person,” he says, guiding a shook up Dante back to the car. 

Once inside, he looks down at his half-eaten cone. “I changed my mind. I’d rather not come back tomorrow.”

“Do you know her?” Tyson starts the car, exhaling. He’s almost afraid to ask. “She seems to know you.”

“Maybe,” Dante says low, suddenly uninterested in his treat. “We used to play together when we were younger. I thought everyone who might know me would be gone by now. Or living elsewhere. But—”

“It’s okay,” Tyson says quickly. He doesn’t want to push and can imagine growing legs after years beneath the ocean is probably trauma enough for one week. “We can go. Do you want to go anywhere else?”

Dante licks his ice cream, if only because it’s melting. “Home.”

So Tyson does what’s requested of him and drives them back to the bungalow. Maybe, he thinks, tomorrow will be different. He knows it’ll take time for Dante to adjust and that’s just fine. He’s willing to wait while he takes baby steps, helping him along the way.

He doesn’t question when Dante climbs out of the car, hoodie tucked under his arm. Once inside, Dante pulls it on and settles down in the same chair he’d been wrapped up in just the other day.

“I’ll make us something to eat,” Tyson says and turns on the radio.

When Dante smiles, he knows it’ll be okay.

..

“Wake up,” Dante whispers, pressed against Tyson’s side.

Tyson doesn’t know when Dante crawled into bed with him— even offered it to him before bed— but Dante had refused, opting to take the couch like a polite house guest. “I’m awake,” Tyson slurs, which is only half the truth.

“They’ve been calling,” Dante says and Tyson doesn’t quite know what he means until he hears the low, trumpet-like sound that’s always signalled Dante home. 

“Don’t go,” Tyson mumbles, because it’s the easy answer. Yawning, he sits up. “You belong here now, with me.”

Dante frowns. “I know, but—”

“I’ll protect you.” Tyson smiles sleepily and it must be enough because Dante allows him to lay back down and settles against his side, arm sliding around Tyson’s waist.

When Dante closes his eyes, he whispers, “and I’ll protect you.”

Tyson doesn’t think he needs protecting, but he’ll take it. It’s easy to fall back asleep after that.

He’s woken up again, just before dawn, by the call again. “Ugh, turn it off.”

“I can’t,” Dante says. He’s sitting up in bed, wearing Tyson’s hoodie. “It’s a shell. There’s no buttons.”

“Well tell whoever it is to fuck off then,” Tyson groans, running a hand over his face. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“They won’t stop.” Dante wraps his arms around himself. “Not until I go back.”

“Can’t you just,” Tyson waves his hand around, “tell them to cut it out because you aren’t coming back? You don’t belong to them. You lived here first.”

The next time the call comes, Dante winces. It’s louder— _closer_. Dante, rising to his feet, moves to the closest window. He doesn’t do much more than lean against the frame, sighing. Just when Tyson thinks that’s it, Dante shouts out the window, “leave me alone! I’m not coming back!”

Tyson, though a bit surprised, laughs.

When the noise stops and he backs away from the window, Dante sinks back onto the bed, brushing his hands together. He leans his head on Tyson’s shoulder, yawning. “That’ll take care of them for… like two hours.”

“Thank God we’re going back to Vancouver soon,” Tyson says, pressing a kiss to the side of Dante’s head.

“Vancouver?” Dante turns slightly, nose brushing Tyson’s cheek. “Both of us?”

“Yeah,” Tyson laughs. “My job, remember? That’s where I live.”

“Oh,” Dante says softly. “That’s right. A job.”

“Listen, you don’t have to get one right away, okay?” Tyson reaches down, grabbing Dante’s hand and squeezing lightly. “When you’re ready.”

Dante’s voice is hauntingly low. “It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late.” Tyson raises an eyebrow, suddenly curious. He doesn’t know much of what Dante’s life was like before the sea took him away. “Were you in school? What’s your dream job?”

Dante gives Tyson’s arm a tug, wrapping it around himself. He says it so quickly, that Tyson nearly misses it. “I used to play hockey.” 

“Hockey?” Tyson blinks. “Can you still play?”

“Um,” Dante chews on his bottom lip. “I mean, probably, eventually. But I think that ship has sailed. No pun intended.”

“You can’t just… go play?” Tyson’s played pick up here and there and honestly, he’s sure there’s a beer league looking for someone or even a coaching position he could pull if he meets the right people— the type of people Tyson knows. 

“Tyson.” Dante’s face does something— like he’s trying not to laugh. “I was drafted. I never made it to prospect camp. You can’t skip camp. They fine you— they—”

Tyson’s mouth falls slightly open, the realization of it all hitting him. Dante was on the path to actually becoming somebody. “But you were missing.”

“I can’t just walk back in years later acting like nothing happened.” Head shaking, he frowns. “They’ll ask questions. It’ll become a _thing_— they’ll find out.”

“So what if they do?” Tyson thinks back to being near the bottom of the ocean, trapped in Mat’s net. Dante had a life before then and they took it away. He doesn’t doubt Mat would have taken his, too, had he been given the chance. “They ruined your future.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to ruin theirs. I know Mat’s a douche, but he’s still my friend. A lot of them are my friends. Or were, anyway. Spilling those many secrets… it’ll put a lot of people in danger. Humans and merpeople. It’s not worth it.” Dante shifts nervously.

“You’re worth it though,” Tyson blurts out, which is probably way too much too soon, but he’s never been one for being subtle.

“Look,” Dante says abruptly. “No one would believe me anyway. They’d think I was nuts. Merperson rule, remember? The second someone talks about our home to outsiders, it disappears for them for good. It’s how we protect ourselves.”

“So,” Tyson says, exhaling. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’ll figure it out.” Dante hums, eyes closing. “In the morning.”

Tyson checks the clock. It’s technically morning— 4:00 AM— just far too early to get out of bed. He tries not to think about how difficult it’s going to be to blend Dante back into the real world seamlessly. The topic of his family hasn’t even come up yet.

“I guess we should get some sleep, huh?” Tyson makes himself comfortable, relaxing at Dante’s side.

“Yeah,” Dante yawns, nestling against Tyson. “I’m already looking forward to more of those pancakes in the morning.”

“Anything for you,” Tyson whispers, watching as Dante curls back into the mattress with a smile. He wonders if Dante will like his mother— if he’ll meet Dante’s— things he shouldn’t even be thinking about yet. Not until he’s able to get Dante back to Canada unseen. “Goodnight, Dante.”

“M’night,” Dante says sleepily and for the time being, none of that matters.

..

Tyson wakes up first, slipping out of bed and letting Dante sleep soundly, making his way into the kitchen. He tries his best not to clang the pans together, whipping up a special batch of chocolate chip pancakes just for Dante. He only burns the first few— evidence he quickly destroys by eating. 

It’s just in time, too. Dante wanders in sleepily as Tyson finishes up his last bite of slightly charred pancake.

“Breakfast?” Dante smiles, leaning over to examine the pancakes. When he turns to Tyson, he motions to his mouth. “You started without me? That means I get extra.”

“You can have as many as you want,” Tyson says, dishing a few out on a plate.

“Seventy then,” Dante decides.

Tyson makes a lot of pancakes. He doesn’t quite make seventy.

When they’re done, he suggests going back into town. Dante declines.

“It’s just—” Dante carries his plate to the sink, setting it down. “Going back there was really overwhelming. It’s a lot to unpack. I don’t think I can do it again. Not now.”

Tyson washes the plates, nodding. “Understandable. There’s plenty of things we can do here. Do you want to listen to some music?”

“Okay,” Dante says, smiling when Tyson pulls out his phone and plays something slow and soothing by Mumford and Sons. It’s one he knows Dante has grown familiar with— one of his favorites. “I really like this one.”

“I know.” Tyson sways to the music, glad to share it with Dante. He’s almost entranced by how Dante sings along— how easily he’s picked up not only on the lyrics, but the rhythm as well.

“I think I missed music the most,” Dante admits once the song ends and before it transitions into the next.

Tyson doesn’t believe that. “More than chocolate?”

“They’re pretty even,” Dante says, taking Tyson’s hand when the next song picks up. “And kissing. I like kissing.”

Tyson takes the hint, stealing a kiss. “Merpeople don’t kiss?”

“Have you ever kissed a fish?” Dante asks, then pauses, briefly, when Tyson snorts. “Other than me.”

“What? Ew.” Tyson’s nose wrinkles, head shaking. “Never.”

“Exactly,” Dante says with a laugh, leaning in for another.

They go through Tyson’s playlist, listening to all of Dante’s favorites— replaying a few _just because_— until they’ve moved to the couch, barely listening anymore, focused more on making out than anything else.

“I really, really like doing this,” Tyson whispers, just inches away from Dante’s face. By the way Dante’s eyes flutter open, cheeks tinged pink, Tyson’s pretty sure Dante likes it, too.

It’s a routine Tyson could easily fall into.

And he does.

It only takes two more days before Dante is comfortable enough to go back into town, easily swayed by the promise of more ice cream and a borderline risque makeout session in the backseat of Tyson’s rental. 

It takes two more days and a lengthy swim for Tyson’s world to get turned upside down. They lay together, sprawled out on the dock, somewhere between sunning themselves and exchanging small, barely there kisses when the merpeople call disrupts their peace once again.

“Not now,” Tyson says with a grumble, kissing Dante slow and steady. It’s easy to block out the noise when they’re preoccupied.

Dante responds, but only half-kisses Tyson this time, cupping his face.

Tyson sighs softly, face cradled in Dante’s palm. He never imagined he’d fall in love. Not like this— not with a merman, anyway, and yet, when he thinks about it, everything makes a world of sense. There’s something soothing about Dante’s voice, soft like the waves Tyson’s grown fond of listening to.

The stupid shell-horn thing? He could do without that.

And then, just like that, it’s over.

“I have to go back,” Dante whispers, hand slipping out of Tyson’s.

Tyson blinks, slow, eyes opening part way. It’s the last thing he expects to hear, never expecting words could hit him like a ton of bricks until they’re spoken by Dante. “Back?” 

“The ocean.” Dante frowns, kneeling at the edge of the dock. He reaches, fingertips skimming the top of the water. “They won’t stop calling me until I do.”

“No,” Tyson says, palm cupping Dante’s elbow. “You don’t have to go now. You’re one of us again.”

“_Us_,” Dante repeats, laughing softly. His eyes are sad, focused on ocean like he’s lost something out there. Something unattainable. “It isn’t that easy.”

Tyson frowns, hand slipping away from Dante. He thinks of his mother and Kacey sitting at home, waiting for his return— about what would happen if he never did. He also thinks about Dante, sitting on his bed, eyes closed and smiling as he just _listens_ to the music Tyson’s played over the speakers like he’s hearing the melodies for the first time. Tyson thinks about how Dante knows how to be a human— he _was_— things are just… different now.

But they could change.

“So that’s it then?” Tyson frowns, feeling his heart tighten— the stinging behind his eyes what he’s been trying to avoid. “You’re going to leave me?”

“That’s not—” Dante frowns, too, tearing his eyes away from the ocean, turning and facing Tyson. “Don’t say it like that.”

“But that’s what you’re doing.” Tyson sighs, taking a few steps back. He can’t look at Dante. Not when it’s seemingly so easy for him to leave. He doesn’t bring up how he planned to bring Dante home— to see where he lives— to meet his family. 

Dante exhales, leaning in for a kiss, but Tyson moves his head and it misses, lips touching the corner of his mouth. “Hey,” Dante says, turning Tyson’s face back towards him. “Hey.”

“I don’t really want to kiss you right now,” Tyson admits.

“That’s fine,” Dante says, brushing his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “But I still want to kiss you.”

Tyson’s breath hitches and his voice sounds vaguely pained. “Good for you.”

“Would you at least visit again?” Dante slides his hand down, letting it rest at his side. Tyson can tell he _wants_ to touch him, but won’t anymore. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“And what about what I want?” Tyson laughs bitterly. “I don’t want to long distance date a fish. Do you know how stupid that sounds?”

Dante blinks slowly, head tilting. “We’re dating?”

“No,” Tyson says firmly. He tries not to think about how many kisses they’ve shared— what they could have become had Dante decided to stay. “We’re not.”

“So you’re not going to visit me?” Dante frowns, kneeling down at the dock’s ladder. “Because it’s fine if you don’t, but,” he trails off with a sigh.

Tyson doesn’t answer.

Dante climbs down the ladder, skipping the last rung to jump into the water. He looks up, sadly, but the second their eyes meet, Tyson looks away.

“Wait,” Tyson manages to choke out, but it’s too late. Dante’s already gone.

..

Tyson barely makes it two days before he decides he needs to get Dante back. After two more days, he acquires a rather old, semi-rusty canoe.

He doesn’t have much of a plan, nor does he know exactly which direction to head— just knows that Dante is out there— somewhere— and trusts strictly on his instincts to take him there.

The thing is, Tyson’s never canoed before. He manages to get in easily, though it rocks until he’s settled in place. Oars in hand, he pushes away from the shoreline and does his best to paddle out, away from the place he called home.

It isn’t until the bungalow is nothing but a small blip in the distance that he calls out, “Dante?”

Dante doesn’t answer. Frustrated, he tries again, louder. “Dante? Come on. Where are you?”

Then he hears it. The merpeople’s call. There’s a tail that pops up and he can just about make out the shape of a body making a beeline straight towards his boat.

“Oh, thank God, I’ve b—” The canoe jolts, sending him into the water. He reaches for the oars, but his hand slips. Tyson thinks that maybe if he can get the canoe upright again, he can crawl back in or at the very least use it to float himself back to shore. He grabs it but something below grabs _him_.

It tugs hard.

Tyson attempts to yell, but this time there’s no magic— he swallows water, feeling himself go deeper down into the water. He decides it’s better to stop struggling and closes his eyes when it all goes black.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s blurry, like he’s still underwater. Only this time, he isn’t. He feels the cool breeze and the faint drag of fingertips over his arm. His brain fires instantly, urging him to call out to Dante and yet when he opens his mouth to speak nothing comes out. 

“Close your eyes.” Dante’s voice seems to come from somewhere distant— somewhere above.

Then, in a sudden state of awareness, Tyson turns, coughing up water. Dante’s hand is there, rubbing his back, patting lightly until he’s got it all out. When Tyson sits up, eyes watery, Dante looks worried.

“You could have died, you idiot.” Or so he thought Dante was worried. His tone says otherwise.

“I didn’t,” Tyson says, throat burning and stomach sloshing full of water. “Did I?” There’s a quick moment of panic that washes over him and he looks down at his legs, half covered in sand. No tail. He exhales.

“No, you didn’t die.” Dante looks annoyed— the thing is, his body language tells another story. He runs his hand down the small of Tyson’s back, bracing him, thumb brushing slightly over the skin. It warms Tyson’s cold insides, comforting him, until— “But if you try that again, I’ll kill you.”

Tyson frowns, clearing his throat. Voice raspy, he has just one question. “Why didn’t I turn?”

“You don’t just turn into a merman by drowning yourself,” Dante sighs, hand going still. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“I didn’t drown myself,” Tyson says softly, shivering at the slightest breeze. “Someone pulled me down. I thought you were there. I saw a tail and—”

“That wasn’t me.” Dante’s eyes narrow, shaking his head. “And whoever it was better hope I don’t find out. Either way, what the hell were you doing in the middle of the ocean? On a canoe? Again, were you trying to drown yourself?”

Tyson’s stomach turns over and he feels as if he might be sick. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t briefly consider it. Still, it was all coincidental. “That’s how you did it,” Tyson says, coughing again. “Right?”

“No.” Dante’s voice is stern but slightly wavering. He’s scared. “When my boat flipped, Mat was there. He used magic to keep me from drowning for a little while—”

“He _kissed_ you?” Tyson’s nose wrinkles.

“No!” Dante says quickly. “He blew a bubble and it—” 

Tyson grins, catching something in Dante’s eye. He didn’t have to kiss Tyson to give him a little bit of magic. He _wanted_ to. “A bubble,” Tyson hums.

“That’s not the point,” Dante stutters. “He was there to keep me alive.”

“Well someone kept _me_ alive,” Tyson says sternly.

“Yeah, me,” Dante huffs.

Tyson raises an eyebrow. “You?”

“You’re lucky I found you, Tyson.” Dante runs a hand along his arm. “You were by your boat.”

“Where’s my boat?” Tyson looks around.

“Full of water, so,” Dante looks down at the water below him. “Down there somewhere. It was you or the boat and I kind of like you better.”

Tyson smiles, sitting. He’s slow moving into the shallower part of the water and Dante hooks an arm around his waist to help him move along. It’s then he realizes he has no idea where he is. He’s stranded, somewhere, amongst what seems to be a sandbar. “Where’s the bungalow?”

“Uh,” Dante flicks his tail, gaining his bearings. “Far.”

Tyson looks around. The canoe is gone. All that he has is Dante. “How am I going to get back?”

“I don’t know,” Dante says, looking out into the distance. “Swim?”

If Tyson’s honest, he never wants to swim again. The thought of it makes his head spin— or maybe it’s the sun paired with all of the water he swallowed. Maybe he’s just dizzy. “Dude, no way. I’ll just, I don’t know,” he says, curling back up near the shoreline, “live here now, I guess.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Dante says and when Tyson looks over, he’s holding a bubble. “I’ll swim back with you. Come on.”

“No.” Tyson pulls his knees up to his chest. “Not to be a big baby, but the ocean is the last place I want to be right now.”

Dante frowns, resting his hand on Tyson’s knee. “Not even if you can breathe underwater?”

Tyson shakes his head, but then, “unless.”

“Unless?” Dante raises an eyebrow, then lowers it with a groan. “Really, Tyson? You almost drowned and you want to make out?”

“Hey,” Tyson says, “you can’t blame a man for trying. Have some sympathy.”

“Just for that, you’re floating on my back.” Dante shifts forward.

“No!” Tyson holds his arms up, lowering them when Dante doesn’t budge much closer. “No I can’t. I’m still really freaked out.”

“Come on,” Dante says, cupping Tyson’s face. When he kisses him, Tyson immediately feels lighter. “You can swim now.”

Tyson doesn’t want to, really, but Dante guides him along, holding his hand beneath the waves. When they reach the bungalow, Tyson is exhausted, legs like noodles. He half climbs the ladder, looking down when Dante just bobs along in the water.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“Wait, I almost forgot.” Dante moves closer, pulling Tyson in for a lingering kiss. When he pulls away, he’s smiling. “I knew you still wanted to kiss me.”

Tyson, though rolling his eyes, can’t help but smile. “So what if I do.”

And he _still_ does, even long after Dante’s called home.

..

There’s a brief moment where Tyson considers finding another boat— something sturdier, preferably with a motor— and going out to look for Dante again. He doesn’t and before he knows it, it’s his last day renting the bungalow.

Tyson, instead, begins to pack his bags, playing the songs he and Dante shared low. It’s a painful memory, but helps him get through packing quickly— ready to leave it all behind.

He’s just about all packed up, ready to turn off the radio when he hears a familiar humming along to the music. Outside, he catches a mop of dark hair splashing near the dock.

“Dante?” Tyson lowers the music and the singing stops. He just about trips over his own feet getting out onto the dock.

When Dante sees him, he smiles. “Tyson.”

“I want to be with you,” Tyson blurts out, which he knows doesn’t just sound crazy— it _is_ crazy. He knows his mother would be devastated if he disappeared into the ocean but somehow leaving Dante behind seems that much worse. “And if I have to give up having a dick and eating pizza then,” he bites his lip, looking at Dante. “Okay, I will.”

“Tyson.” Dante repeats, shaking his head and laughing— hard.

“What?” Tyson says, slightly exasperated. The way Dante looks at him, amused, isn’t funny. “I mean it. I can, like, call my mom and apologize and explain and then we can go.”

“Dude, no.” Dante laughs again, biting his lip. “Can you, uh, get me some shorts?”

Tyson’s eyes widen. His heart somersaults. Dante wouldn’t need shorts unless— “Wait, you’re— Mat let you go?”

“Yeah, I’m just as surprised as you are.” Dante swims towards the ladder, grabbing the bottom rung. “But it wasn’t up to Mat.” 

Tyson turns towards the bungalow, knowing he needs to get some shorts, but stops in his tracks the second Mat’s brought up. “It wasn’t?”

Dante climbs up the ladder and then sits, pushing back a strand of hair. “No,” he laughs. “I mean, he helped, but in the end, it was my choice.”

“Wait.” Tyson sits, suddenly feeling faint. “What if people recognize you?”

“How about I explain it when I’m not naked?” He isn’t shivering this time, but he’s still— Tyson notices— quite naked.

“C’mon,” Tyson scrambles to his feet, bringing Dante with him— shielding him until they’re inside. He tosses Dante a pair of shorts and a hoodie— both items Dante had worn the last time he was on land. Once Dante’s dressed, Tyson’s ready to demand answers. “Well?”

“Promise you won’t laugh, because, well, I did when Mat told me, but that’s beside the point,” Dante says, pacing a little.

Tyson doesn’t move, hands on his hips. “Okay, I promise.”

“There was a curse on me,” he says, shrugging casually. “And now there isn’t. So I’m free.”

“Okay,” Tyson begins, taking a few steps closer. “How did you break the curse?”

“I didn’t.” Dante laughs, matching Tyson’s steps. “You did.”

“Me?” Tyson stops, head tilting slightly. He doesn’t know much about curses. In fact, he’s pretty sure he knows even less about curses than he knows about merpeople— and that knowledge is limited as is. “Because I kissed you?”

Dante laughs again, shaking his head. “What do you think this is, Disney?”

Tyson just rolls his eyes.

“When they took me in the first place, it was because they thought I’d belong.” Dante smiles, fondly. “And for awhile, I did. But I never was like the rest of them. They hardly come to the surface. They’re happy among their own kind.”

“And you weren’t?” Tyson remembers watching Dante swim, tail flickering. He never seemed unhappy, just… curious.

“I was happy enough,” Dante says, glancing out the window. “But I didn’t do what they expected of me. Everyone else who’s brought down there falls in love with the ocean and they’re more than content with a life underwater. They like feeling immortal. Then they fall in love with other merpeople and leaving isn’t an option anymore.”

Tyson scratches the back of his neck. It’s a bit difficult to wrap his mind around. “If they’re in love, how is it a curse?”

“It isn’t,” Dante says, turning back to Tyson. “Unless you’re, like, into someone on land.”

“Does that make me the big, bad curse?” Tyson grins.

“Not exactly,” Dante laughs softly. “It makes you the curse-breaker. Not many merpeople turn back for good.”

“Okay,” Tyson says, inhaling. It’s a lot to process. “But what about your family? Your friends?”

“Mat says their memories get replaced with happy ones. It’ll be as if I never left.” Dante scratches his chin, signalling that Tyson likely isn’t the only one with questions. “So, like, merpeople magic.”

“And then what?” Tyson raises an eyebrow, grinning.

Dante closes in the gap, smiling wider. “I guess we live happily ever after?”

“Bro, that’s soft,” Tyson says despite the fact that he’s smiling just as wide.

Dante rolls his eyes. “Shut up and kiss me already before I change my mind and jump back in.”

Tyson doesn’t think twice and tugs Dante in by the collar, kissing him as if it’s their last. 

“I just have one more question,” Tyson says when Dante pulls away ever so slightly.

“Yeah?” Dante hums.

“Why did Mat drag me down there when I went looking for you?” Tyson’s thumb brushes Dante’s cheek. “Was he trying to drown me?”

“Mat’s kind of an idiot,” Dante says, which, is an understatement. “I guess he caught on pretty quickly that I had a crush on you. I guess that was his stupid way of trying to keep me down there _and_ make sure I still had you.”

“But he didn’t want me down there.” Tyson winces, thinking of their first exchange.

“Yeah, of course not,” Dante says. “That’s because Mat was jealous.”

“Was he in love with you?” It’s an idea that makes Tyson’s stomach sink with jealousy— one that, in the end, probably doesn’t matter. Dante chose Tyson.

“God no,” Dante laughs. “But we became pretty close friends. Everyone else around our age paired off pretty quickly. Knowing I wanted to leave was pretty hard on him.”

“Do you think Mat will ever come up on land?” Tyson doesn’t know what the future holds but knows that with Dante’s choice, it’s likely not including Mat anymore. He’s left feeling guilty and maybe even a little sad.

“Please,” Dante laughs. “We both know Mat’s perpetually a merman because he’s in love with himself.”

“Fair,” Tyson says. “But you never know. I heard the next guy renting this place is about my age.”

“God.” Dante snorts. “Hope he can keep up with Mat.”

“Can anyone?” Tyson smiles. He wonders if they should warn him.

“You’re probably right.” Dante smiles, looking back at Tyson. “But enough about Mat. I want to make out. And then maybe if you’re up to it, pancakes.”

“Is that why you came back?” Tyson leans in, lips inches away from Dante’s. “For the pancakes?”

“Part of the reason,” he says with a grin, leaning in and pressing his lips firmly against Tyson’s. This time, Tyson knows it’s for good.

..

**EPILOGUE**

“So,” Dante says, when they climb out of the truck, arm instantly slipping around Tyson’s waist when they meet up around the back.

“So,” Tyson repeats, leaning into his side as they make their way up his mother’s obnoxiously long driveway. This time, with Dante pressed against him, the long walk doesn’t seem all that bad.

Dante stops midway, turning to him, arms never once moving from their place. “Are we dating now?”

“Yeah,” Tyson says, smiling. “I think we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me @ dejadejayou on twitter.


End file.
